


Exclusive Opportunities

by IcyPassions



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Disappointment, Gen, McLaren, Mild Comfort, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tragedy, basically teen emotions, it has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPassions/pseuds/IcyPassions
Summary: Mitch Tilken becomes a McLaren Shadow Project finalist. What results is so much more than he ever imagined.
Relationships: Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 23
Kudos: 14





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> All I can say is: I hope I don't lose the drive to work on this one like my last two. In case you're wondering, yeah I deleted the college AU one because I hated it and Distress is indefinitely on hiatus because I don't know how to continue it and keep it interesting. So yeah. Hope you like this. Cheers
> 
> This work is entirely of fiction. Please don't share it outside of fanfiction circles!

He wanted his name to echo down the halls of McLaren history. _Mitch Tilken, Shadow Champion._

He’d spent nearly every waking hour of the summer on iRacing, practicing until his calloused hands gave out each evening in search of the perfect lap. His mother willed him on but with a fair helping of hesitation, taking note of her son’s neglection to his social life and other hobbies and occasionally trying to prod him back to where he’d been.

She poked her head into his room one day as he focused intently on the screens. “Honey, why don’t you go out with your friends? It’s been a while since you all did something together.”

“Yeah, mom I know. But I’ve gotta win this, ok? It means the world to me. They’ll understand.” And they did, often tuning into his streams to cheer him on.

“You used to love working on your R/C race cars too, what happened to that?”

“I don’t have the money to keep it going right now, I’ve been upgrading my rig.”

Winter Tilken let out a submissive sigh and continued down the hallway, clutching a clothes basket.

* * *

As Toronto autumn rolled around and brought a nip to the air, Mitch was nearing the finish line. He’d traded wins with Martin Kroenke throughout the series, and they both were tied in points going into the final event. He just needed to finish ahead to secure his seat in the finals.

As he mashed the throttle pedal of his virtual MP4-12C GT3 onto Zandvoort's front straight with one lap to go, Martin was just 0.7s behind and in the slipstream. Mitch moved to the right to defend into the turn 1 braking zone, allowing Martin alongside but not on the preferred line. At the last second Martin pulled the dummy and yanked his car to the extreme right of the track, nearly on the grass but importantly alongside Mitch. As the two competitors slammed on their brakes, Mitch had to take avoiding action by going wide to avoid Martin crashing into his side. “The fuck are you doing?!” he shouted to no one, throwing his hand up to the viewers that couldn’t see it.

He angrily pressed on, following Martin obediently through the middle portion of the track where passing was nigh on impossible. As the drivers dove through the first of the two successive hairpins, Mitch calculatedly missed the apex by about a car’s width. To the audience, it was a mistake.

To Mitch, it was cunning.

Able to carry more speed through his wider line, he got back on the gas before Martin and closed up to him quickly as they switched back for the second hairpin. Mitch eyed his braking marker and then eyed a fence post about 10 meters further down. Just before his normal marker, he flicked his car to the left and waited a seeming eternity before braking at the fencepost.

Time slowed. He squinted slightly and pursed his lips as he arrested the momentum of his car, braking as straight as possible to avoid a lockup. Martin, having not expected the move, turned in as normal. The two cars clacked wheels, bouncing Martin out onto the grass and sending Mitch into a half-spin.

Mitch’s arms flew back and forth as he grasped the wheel, whatever remaining adrenaline in his system dumping into his veins in an attempt to rescue the car. Somehow, the feisty McLaren resumed its straight trajectory and he squeezed back on the throttle as he checked the mirrors for Martin.

Nothing.

And nothing out the windscreen, either.

That could only mean he was alongside, in a dead heat towards the tightest corner on the track: Turn 12.

He clicked the Right D-Pad button to look that direction and confirmed his fears.

The two barreled toward the sharp right 90, horns locked again. Who would brake later this time?

200.

150.

At the 100, both slammed on the binders, rotors glowing in agony.

Mitch let off slightly.

Martin had braked more, to allow for Mitch on the outside. Perhaps a bit too much.

Mitch, again with the wider line and more momentum, took the advantage into the left of 13. As the two rounded out onto the short chute, Mitch cleared Martin and, letting out a forced puff of air, focused on braking for the penultimate corner. As he did so, Martin did too late. He collided with Mitch’s rear, sending him into another seemingly unrecoverable tankslapper.

This time, though, Mitch had the outside kerb to help him. As if magic, the raised bit of red and white heaven straightened out his McLaren with hardly any effort. He watched in the mirror as Martin struggled his way out of the gravel trap, and rounding the final corner, he moved to the right side of the track to greet his invisible mechanics and screamed in pure, unfiltered shock and awe.

* * *

  
_1 week later_

“Hey guys, I have a surprise!” Mitch interrupted, making his mother pause the Grey’s Anatomy episode the parents were watching intently.

“What is it?” They spoke simultaneously, feigning some level of interest.

Mitch sliced open the crisp envelope with his fingertip and practically ripped out the folded paper inside. He read aloud:

_Dear Mr. Tilken,_

_Congratulations! You have become iRacing’s finalist in the 2019 McLaren Shadow Project and have earned one of just six seats in the Grand Finals in Woking. Please watch your email for upcoming information to include event dates, accommodation, and what to expect from the Grand Finals. Congrats again, and best of luck!_

_Regards,_

_The McLaren eSports Team_

Below sat Zak Brown’s signature, penned in real ink, not just a manufactured photocopy. _Zak Brown touched this paper._ Mitch grinned from ear to ear as his parents’ expressions simultaneously morphed from confusion to worry.

Then, the interrogation began.

“What about college? You’re gonna miss class!”

“No, mom, this is after finals week.”

“What about airfare? You can’t afford that!”

“Dad I’m sure they’ll cover it, I just gotta watch my emails like the letter said.”

“Where are you gonna live? How will you eat?”

Mitch raised his voice in an oxymoronic attempt to quell the chaos. “Guys, I’m sure they will cover everything. I beat everyone on iRacing, after all. I’ll keep a close eye on my emails, ok? Don’t worry.”

His parents replied with half-nods of cautious approval. Mitch took the cue to leave the living room as they resumed their shoddy medical drama. Scrubs was better, anyway.

He dropped his haunches onto the edge of his bed and let out a puff. Not so much as a congrats from his parents, just assault by caring. He knew they only cared about his wellbeing, and was grateful for the fact. It still stung that his accomplishment hadn’t seemed to get through to them, though.

Doing his best not to let it degrade his mood, he hopped on Discord to tell his friends the big news. As he relaxed back in his comfortable racing seat, he could hear his father Kevin tromping up the stairs. “Hey Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re sorry for… shredding you about all this. We really are proud of you, and we just want to make sure it all goes ok for you. Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Mitch lifted the corner of his mouth in a small grin. His father returned the favor and disappeared from his doorway.

* * *

Mitch took one last look at himself in the mirror. His thick, flowing chocolate hair brushed slightly up to the side boldly contrasted with his electric blue eyes. One of his many McLaren team shirts clothed his slim form, paired with a pair of dark skinny jeans. He smiled to himself, pleasantly surprised with his presentation.

The gravity of it all finally became real to him when he raced down the stairs and checked over his bags one more time in the entryway. Since the night he got the letter, his parents had become increasingly interested and supportive in his endeavors and what they meant to him, hoping to make up for lost time and attention. They now stood behind the bags, their stances undeniably begging for one more hug. Mitch obliged and squeezed them both tight. “We’re proud of you, really. Good luck over there.” his father muttered during his turn with Mitch.

“I love you, please be safe, and text me updates to let me know you’re safe, ok?” his mom spoke worriedly.

“I will, mom. Love you too.”

With that, Mitch grabbed his bags, gave a final nod to his parents with a cheeky smile that was mirrored back to him, and stepped out the door to begin the trek to his destiny.


	2. The Swing of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Finals, Mitch returns from Woking only to get another surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you have any input AT ALL on how I can make my stuff more interesting to read, please leave a comment. I want my ideas to be enjoyable for you, too.

It hadn’t been enough.

Mitch let his arms drops to his sides and slouched in his seat as confetti and spotlights enveloped the winning driver. His hearing turned to a blur as ravaging thoughts overtook his mind.

_Your dream is over, loser._

_You don’t deserve to be here._

_You’re a failure._

His thoughts switched about his parents watching on at home, and how disappointed they must be. His friends, who’d supported him expecting the best? He let them down. He’d let them all down. They surely wouldn’t watch him race anymore.

Tears began to sting in his eyes as the grief manifested outwardly. He made the mistake of wiping them- a photographer’s flash popped in his peripheral vision.

_Shit. Now I look like a child to the world._

He dragged his fingers through his hair and steeled himself, breathing deeply in some attempt to dry the tears.

He glanced over at the commotion. His hearing returned to clarity and the voice of the interviewer boomed over the auditorium’s speakers.

“How does it feel to be Shadow Project Champion?”

“It’s the greatest feeling, you know? I’ve got to thank all my supporters along the way, I couldn’t have done it without them…”

Mitch wanted no more than to melt into a puddle of shame and embarrassment. He briefly considered leaping off the stage headfirst, but decided the height wasn’t enough to kill him.

Still, he forced himself out of his seat and made his way over to the winner. They exchanged some sort of handshake-hug thing before speaking.

“Congrats, you deserve it. I locked up into 1, you didn’t, I guess.”

“Thanks man, hey if I didn’t win I wanted it to be you. You were great the whole time, and you kicked my ass in the real car.” He said with a massive smile.

Mitch smirked and replied, “Thanks, good luck with the team, dude.”

“Thank you, and good luck with whatever you do!”

The winner, of course, got a sim driver seat with McLaren. Remembering so brought forth another pang of intense jealousy and self-loathing. A hot flash rose to his face as he turned away to leave, but the overly energetic interviewer caught him before he could escape. “Not so fast there, Mitch, just a quick word?”

It was more an instruction than a question. He took a deep breath and gave his best camera smile.

“So, although in the end you didn’t quite win it all, I’m sure you’re still happy with your efforts?”

_Easy to say yes when you’re not the one wasting your days away for a few hundredths only to lose it all._

He almost said that. But, the logical half of his brain won out this time.

“Well, yeah, I’m still really pleased to have been given the opportunity to come here and compete. I’ve gotta thank McLaren for that and my friends and family for all the support back home. I got so damn close, but… just threw it away. Hopefully I can be better next time.”

The tears started to return, and Mitch dipped his head down to attempt to hide them from the prying eyes of the crowd and the cameras.

“Well, we certainly all wish you luck and hope to see you back next year, Mitch.”

“Thank you.”

He promptly spun round and made his departure from the lights, the sound, the defeat.

* * *

The flight back home was the longest Mitch had ever been on. He struggled to get comfortable in the economy seats provided by the team. The small meal he’d been given wasn’t enough to appease his growling stomach, and he considered ordering something else until they announced before takeoff that they only accepted credit cards. His debit card or his remaining British currency wouldn’t suffice. He pulled his blanket further up onto his chest and rested his head against the windowframe in a futile attempt to sleep.

~~

Mitch often used long drives to allow his introspection to consume him. He knew Toronto’s highway system like the back of his hand and didn’t feel the need to pay 100% of his attention to finding his way home, instead opting to ponder on whatever was at the top of his mind. Of course, at this moment, it was the result in Woking. The angst kept returning in waves, every time he pondered how he could’ve won if not for the lockup but remembered that he couldn’t change it. He knew it wasn’t the mature thing to do, to continue wondering, and that it would consume him whole if he kept churning it to a pulp. But it wasn’t going to be easy to dam up the rapids of agonizing frustration. He reached for his phone and put on one of his more jovial playlists to block it out for the time being. These were thoughts he’d rather not be having in traffic on the 401.

  
When he pulled into his suburban driveway and stepped out of the car, he was greeted with bear hugs from his mom and many puppy kisses from his labrador, Vick. “Oh, I know you didn’t win, honey, but it’s ok! We’re still very proud of you and we’re glad you’re home.” Winter assured.

Her uniquely soothing voice on its own helped ease the pain a tiny bit. “Thanks, mom. I’m glad to be home too. It’s been a rollercoaster.”

* * *

That Thursday, Mitch once again occupied his racing seat but decided just to play some games with his friends instead, keeping his mind off of racing for a bit. Wednesday had been devoted to sleep and lots of Netflix, and he decided some sort of social interaction was in order. He hooked up his Xbox controller to his PC and hopped on Discord. The gang decided on Rocket League to kick off the night.

Taking the piss out of each other was the norm. “Hey dickheads, send the ball over already!” Shouted Brandon into Discord voice as a mix of players scuffled over the ball near Mitch’s team’s goal.

“Come and get it yourself, we’re defending!” retorted Noah.

“Always making me do all the work, I see!”

“Well you bring it on yourself always playing forward, dumbass!

The banter couldn’t help but bring a smile to Mitch’s face as he giggled at the clowns behind the screen.

When Winter called him down for dinner, Mitch announced it to the group and they all decided to have a break and pick back up with CS:GO afterward.

Thursdays were pasta nights, and he couldn’t be happier to see his favorite in the pan: Chicken Alfredo. Winter had likely orchestrated it to keep his mood up, and it was definitely working. He made sure to take a bit extra to show his approval of the gesture.

Kevin arrived home from work as the other two were sitting down and eyed the alfredo on the counter. “The delicacy returns!” he commented. Like Mitch, alfredo was edible gold to him.

As he too scooped a generous helping into his plate, Mitch’s phone buzzed on the table. “That the girlfriend?” Winter teased.

“No, I wish though.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find the one soon, don’t be pressured by me of all people!” she replied with a chuckle.

Mitch was focused on the notification, however. It was an email.

**McLaren F1 Team**  
_You’re Invited!_

At first, he thought he’d missed a duplicate of the letter from Woking inviting him to the Shadow Finals. A closer examination of the date revealed otherwise, though.

_19 December 2019_

_Dear Mr. Tilken,_

_We’d like to thank you for your participation in the McLaren Shadow Project Finals. You have showcased that you are a truly capable simracing driver and we hope you’re proud of your accomplishments. As a token of our appreciation, we are inviting all Shadow Finalists to the McLaren garage for 2020 Winter Testing in Barcelona. You have been chosen to solely spend day 5 of 6 with the team and experience McLaren’s preparation process for the upcoming season. Please RSVP as soon as possible so that we can send further details your way._

_Happy Holidays,_

_McLaren F1 Team_

Mitch didn’t realise his mouth had fallen agape while reading through it until he looked up.

“What is it?” Kevin questioned.

“Umm… apparently I’ve been invited to a day of winter testing with the team, McLaren, since I was a finalist.”

His parents’ eyes went wide, then they broke into smiles. “That’s amazing! When is it?” questioned Winter.

“Well, it’s in February, so I’ll miss some college, butpleasedon’tworryI’llmakesureIcatchup!” Mitch sputtered out to beat further questioning.

“I suppose it is just your freshman year, so… just make sure you collect any assignments you’ll miss, ok?”

“Yes, I know, it’s all online now mom. You don’t need to worry.”

Kevin interjected, “That’s really cool, Mitch! Take lots of pictures, I’m honestly getting really interested in F1 and all.”

“I will. This is just… wow.”

~~

“You’re gonna get to do WHAT?!” Lloyd shouted into the voice chat, groans erupting from the other headphone users.

“I’m gonna go see testing!”

“God, you lucky son of a bitch, if I were there right now I’d strangle you!”

Mitch cackled at his friend’s faux anger. Or maybe it was real anger. Either way, it was funny. As he laughed, he got shot by an enemy player while sitting in plain sight. "God, you tosser, we need to take B, come on!

“Ok, ok, yeah I know!” he replied through a smile. Before doing so, he went to his Sent Mail box and ensured he’d sent his RSVP for the 3rd time, just to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a slow start, I'm sorry for that lol. It'll pick up soon.


	3. Crashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happens to the Papaya Pair, and Mitch is summoned to the motorhome as a result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lando and Carlos and the team finally enter the story...

_26 Feb 2020_  
_Barcelona_

“Come, Milk Boy, you will be late!”

“Yeah I’m coming Carlos, jeez!”

The papaya pair, Lando in trail, climbed into the rented minivan outside their hotel’s automatic doors.

“Good morning boys!” Charlotte chimed as Lando’s PR man Martyn piloted the car out onto the road.

“Morning, Charlotte.” They replied in unison.

“So, just as a refresher, we have a couple of quick media chats in the morning, then testing as usual, and at the end of it we have a short meet and greet. Ok boys?”

She got a “Sounds good” from Lando and an “Ok” from Carlos.

From that point, the van was silent as the boys ran through their social media apps to pass the time.

**BANG**

The car lurched to the right, towards the trees lining the road.

The McLaren drivers, heads up and eyes wide from the sound, didn’t even have time to think before Charlotte screamed and everything went black.

~~

Mitch stood in front of his hotel mirror, trying to perfect his appearance for the very important people he was to meet today. A few strands of hair didn’t seem to want to be tamed. In reaction, he ran his hands under the water again, and without shaking them off this time, practically slapped his head in that general location, screwing up the surrounding hair. Luckily, the annoying pieces remained down, and he quickly rushed into action with his hair gel to secure them. After brushing it smooth, he finally decided it was presentable. Pack now on his back and sparking water bottle in hand, he checked his pocket once more for his keycard and stepped out towards the elevators.

On the way down from the fourth floor, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He extracted it and opened the notification: a text from Emily, his VIP coordinator.

_Please report to the McLaren motorhome immediately when you get here. Is urgent._

His heartrate picked up as he reread the text, mind racing wondering what he could be summoned for. He tried to think back to any interactions he’d made with the team since he got to Barcelona. None came to mind, so he pocketed his phone and made his way out the hotel doors to the waiting taxi, mind truly open.

Soon after pulling onto the main road, they encountered a traffic jam. Craning his neck, Mitch could see emergency vehicle lights around the bend. “What happened?” he asked aloud.

“It must be bad.” The driver replied in a thick accent.

After much too long, they crawled past the scene. Judging by the wooden splinters and the tire marks, the black van had crashed into the trees and careened back across the road into the median, and was now surrounded by emergency vehicles and medical personnel. “I hope they’re ok.” Mitch remarked.

“For sure.”

The rest of the drive went as normal, and Mitch stepped out of the taxi in front of the paddock turnstiles, beeping away with their famous three-tone chime as team members and guests alike made their way in. He reached around to the front pocket of his backpack and extracted his paddock pass. Donning it ‘round his neck, he held it up to the scanner and it chimed in reply, allowing him in. It already felt so exclusive and he hadn’t even made it to the motorhome yet.

Upon reaching it, he was immediately intercepted by who he presumed to be Emily. “Come on inside, please. Sorry for the interruption, it’s just a bit of an urgent matter. Oh, up the stairs here please.”

He was led to an opaque glass door with **Zak Brown** on the placard. She knocked, received a “come in”, and did so with Mitch in tow.

He was awestruck; already he was meeting the team boss of McLaren. “Welcome, Mitch, good to see ya, dude.” He said with an outstretched palm. Mitch shook it and replied, “Good to meet you, sir”, adding a nervous smile.

“Please, sit. Now, umm, this isn’t exactly part of your itinerary as you could probably tell, but we’ve had a major incident. Carlos and Lando and their PR reps got into a major car accident on the way to the track today.”

Mitch, now sitting, raised a palm to his mouth, eyes shooting open. “Oh my god.” He muttered. That’s what had happened. Mental imagery of the mangled wreck of a car came forth, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Are they ok?”

“The hospital is reporting that Lando and Carlos are stable, but Charlotte is in critical condition, and… Martyn has passed away from his injuries.”

He couldn’t believe this was real, that this had happened, right in front of his eyes. That the seemingly invincible stars of the team were actually injured, and their PR reps they spent so much time with were worse for wear or… dead. He was glad at least the drivers would surely be ok, but felt a terrible tug at his heart for the tragedy of the other two in the car.

Zak had been letting him process for the moment, but spoke again. “I know how much this team means to you, so I felt you should hear the news as soon as it came.”

“…thank you.”

“We’re currently preparing a press release for the accident and are coordinating with medical personnel to make sure they get the best care possible. In no way do we wish to sweep this incident under the rug; these are… very trying times. However, we cannot stand still as a team. Lando and Carlos will likely recover to drive the car come Melbourne, and we need as much data as we can get from this car because of the shorter testing this year. You are currently being considered to test the car this afternoon.”

Mitch’s jaw dropped again, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. You performed the best of the finalists in the real car challenge and were far and away the best in the real McLaren simulator. You may not have won it all, but your skill hasn’t gone overlooked by us. Sergey is ill at home in Russia, so you’re our only option if the car is to run today.”

Mitch had never felt such a noxious blend of excitement and sadness in his life. “Umm… I’m not sure how to drive the car.”

“Don’t worry, after this I’m going to announce my decision to my colleagues, and you’ll head down to the garage for a crash course on the wheel controls. You’ve already driven a simulated version of the car for the finals, so you have an idea of what it’ll handle like. I believe in your abilities as a driver and so does the team. No pressure, really.” He lifted the corner of his mouth into a half-smile and stood, stretching out his hand for another shake. “Good luck, Mitch.”

Mitch stood slowly and returned the shake, overwhelmed. “Thank you… so much for this opportunity. I’m doing it for Carlos and Lando and Charlotte and Martyn. For the team.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Zak stepped beside him and opened the door to let Mitch and Emily out. Mitch’s head swam as he walked down the stairs, and Emily noticed him clutching it. “Here, let’s sit down a second, this is pretty big for you.”

Mitch pulled out a chair and practically fell into it. He suddenly remembered his sparking water in the side pocket of his backpack. He slid it off his back and grabbed the bottle, upcapped it and chugged half of it, suddenly very thirsty. Emily sat across from him, now clutching an instant coffee from the breakfast bar. “So, how does it feel?” she asked.

Mitch had no words.


	4. [Fic Update]

**You don't need to read this anymore lalalalalawatermelonwatermelonwatermelon go to chapter 5**

Hey all,

I'll get straight to the point and say that this work hasn't been getting the reception I initially thought it would. After three solid-length chapters and around 4 days, I've only got about 75 views on this while my quickfics "Slushies" and "The Quali King" amass that amount in a single night and now have over 5x that amount of views and kudos this one does. I think it's clear to me that I'm not doing something right here. I have the feeling it could do with my relative inability to build a solid original character. It's my first shot at it (and only my 5th foray into real creative writing at all) and reading back through I'm pretty dissatisfied with Mitch; I don't feel there's enough to him and I genuinely don't know how to go about fleshing him out. I think it's probably better that I stick to playing with the existing proverbial "dolls" of the real F1 grid, because you all seem to like that and I'm better at interpreting characters than creating them. So, I'm sorry to give up again but I'm not going to be continuing this fic as intensely as I was. Most of the joy I get from writing is from others enjoying it, not just because I like doing it, and while I do like the story I had mapped out for this one, it's just not picking up traction with you guys and I'm honestly getting a bit discouraged. So, with that, I'm gonna stick to oneshots or shorter novelettes with the existing grid to build my characterization skills for the time being. To those few that were enjoying this one, I hope you understand, and I may return to this at some point if there's suddenly more people that want it.

Deuces, and happy holidays.


	5. The Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch gets his first run in the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some thought, I finally decided to say "fuck it" and keep writing this. This story is something that's been in my head for a long time, long before I even found this site, and it just didn't feel right to stop making it. So, here you go. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas ya filthy animals.

“Alright, so here’s the wheel, I’m gonna run through the basic functions you’ll need for the test, alright?”

“Ok.”

Andrew Jarvis sat down next to Mitch in Lando’s motorhome room, clutching the highly complex wheel that would go on the car a short time from now. “Also, you can just call me Jarv. I was Lando’s performance engineer last year, but moved to a different role within the team for this season. They called me back for a bit to help you out though!” he mentioned with an honest smile and a chuckle.

Mitch smiled a bit in return. He felt a calming, reassuring vibe about Jarv. No wonder Lando had a great rookie season last year.

“Alright, so I’m sure you know how to shift, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

  
“Alright, cool. So, here’s the clutch paddle below it, it works just like the one in a road car but it’s quite sensitive, so take care coming out the garage. We’ll push you out the first couple times so you can get used to it without hitting something.”

A puff of air escaped Mitch’s nose.

“Back here is also the DRS button, obviously in the zone you can use it, but you won’t need it for the first couple of runs.”

“Umm… I’m doing more than one run?”

“Well, yeah I think that’s the plan unless you have an objection?”

His brain screamed _fuuuuck yes you do dude you’re in over your head whaaaaaat are you doing_ , but what actually came out was “no, I don’t, just curious.”

“Ok, cool. So, around the front here…”

~~

Mitch looked himself over the mirror, having dressed into Nomex pants and longsleeve, borrowed race suit tied around his waist. So far, it still hadn’t quite hit him that he’d be driving an F1 car in 30 minutes, and he hope it didn’t hit soon. That would send his anxiety over the edge.

He wet his hand in the tiny sink and ran it through his slick brown locks to keep it out of his face for the time being. He’d have a balaclava on soon anyway, no need to bother too much.

He grabbed the orange and black coat from the hook and slipped it over his arms, zipping it up. One last look in the mirror. _I’m an F1 driver now. Sorta._

_Keep your head up. Rack back your shoulders. Let’s go._

He steeled his nerve as he opened the door out into the hallway, met by Emily at the top of the stairs.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He quietly replied with a straight face.

Emily didn’t turn to head down the stairs. Instead, she reached up and placed her hands on Mitch’s shoulders. He was at least a head taller than she. He peered down to meet her concerning gaze, accentuated by raised thick eyebrows and a mild frown not unlike what Winter gave him when he went out on weekend nights.

“You’re gonna do great, ok? Just trust in what you know and follow your gut.”

She dropped her hands and pulled him into a hug. Mitch didn’t know how much he needed or wanted this until now, and was suddenly overcome with a wave of calm. He hugged her back lightly, respectfully. “Thank you.”

She released her grip, her messy bun flopping back. “No problem. I know we just met, like, an hour ago, but I still need to make sure you get through this. Whatever you need, I will provide within reason. Just let me know, ok? I know how nervous you are.” She smiled, piercing any façade of a lifeless VIP manager she might’ve had.

Astonished by her perceptiveness at his situation and her kind gesture, he could only muster a nod and a small grin in reply.

“Alright, let’s go to the garage.”

When they arrived at the entrance, Jarv was waiting at the papaya-and-blue decorated entrance. He held up his clasped hand for a fistbump, and Mitch obliged, another smile escaping his lips. He could get used to this. Jarv turned and walked alongside him into the tunnel. “Good luck!” said Emily. Mitch turned his head over his shoulder, replying with a quiet “thank you.”

When the two men turned the corner into the garage, it finally hit Mitch. _Shit. I get to drive that. I’ve gotta drive that._

The MCL35, in all its Papaya and Vega Blue glory, sit at rest in the stall before him. A pair of mechanics were busy at work replacing the 4s on the nose and fin with 47s, McLaren’s testing number. Another two were swapping out the red LED strips on the rear wing and protruding carbon box with green ones, signifying his lack of a superlicense.

Jarv led him over to the engineer’s desk. If the sun had risen while he learned about the wheel, he couldn’t tell. A dark, gray overcast enveloped the sky, and Mitch shivered a bit as a cool breeze flew into the garage. There were a few cars out testing already; the session had begun since he’d started over to the garage. Jarv tapped his shoulder and handed him a pair of headphones. He slipped them on, adjusting the mic to his mouth. “Radio check?” Jarv inquired.

“Yep, gotcha.”

“Alright, Coolio. So, this first run is just going to be about learning the car. We’re gonna head out when a few of the other teams come in for a break so you’ll have a mostly clear track. It’ll be five laps on the hards, just so you can get a grip for the handling. You’ve driven the sim a ton, but you’ll get a real feel for it here. Any questions?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Alright, sick, so over there you’ll find the rest of your gear.” He gestured to the opposite corner of the garage. “Remember, earbuds, balaclava, helmet, HANS. We’ll help you clip the HANS to the helmet and get you strapped in. Go on ahead, I’ll talk to you when you’re in the car.”

Mitch stepped carefully over to the gear counter. Waiting for him was all the gear Jarv had promised, all in his size somehow. He didn’t find the ability to think about it, though. The tornado of thoughts about what he was about to undertake ravaged his brain, spitting out anything else that tried to intrude. It was probably good to be focused, but this was a different kind of focused. The wired, hectic, anxious kind.

He pushed the earphones into his ears, ensuring a comfy fit, then pulled the balaclava over his head. He looked back out towards the entrance of the garage, towards Jarv. That’s when he saw another camera flash outside the bay. Behind it was none other than Kym Illman, who gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Mitch grinned and shook his head, the silly fleeting moment going as fast as it came. He silently sort of hoped that photo appeared on his site, but that also depended on whether or not he crashed the car. He zipped up the race suit the rest of the way, covering the bottom of the thin fabric enveloping his head.

The helmet he extracted from the cubby was of a generic livery; orange with blue splashed around. However, under further inspection, on the sides were his personal “MT” logo in a matching blue, having likely been stuck on as soon as word came down. He took a moment to stare at it, a grin creeping onto his lips. The pressure could no longer oppress his revitalized mood. He pulled on the helmet, looked to Jarv, and tapped the side of it where the logo was. Jarv smiled back with a thumbs-up, further solidifying Mitch’s sudden readiness for the task at hand. He gave two thumbs up in return and reached to grab the HANS device, pulling it into his neck from behind. A crewmember suddenly grabbed at the tethers from behind, making him jump slightly. He could hear the chuckle from the man as he attached the tethers to the metal receivers on his helmet. Mitch turned to face him, meeting an outstretched hand. He grabbed it in an upward handshake, gripping it tight as not to make himself seem weak to the burly mechanic. “Best of luck, don’t give us a repair job now!” he teased through a cheeky grin.

“I’ll do my best!” Mitch shouted over a passing car, likely a Ferrari-powered car judging by the noise.

The mechanic pointed behind him, to which he turned and met another man setting up a stepstool for him to use to get in. The new man, skinnier but just as friendly, motioned him onto the baby ladder. Mitch took two cautious steps up and then swung his right leg down into the tub. Once his foot contacted the seat, he slowly dropped the other leg in and stood up inside. After readjusting his nether regions for comfort, he squatted down, inching his legs forward into the narrow slot, using the halo as leverage to smoothen the transition. Once he was fully down inside, he wriggled his behind and shoulders into their final resting place in the tight-fitting seat. It was clearly not molded for him, probably Lando, but it still fit him well enough where he couldn’t shift side to side easily. The stepladder mechanic reached down and grabbed the comm wire lead from the waist of his suit, fumbling with it until he managed to get it plugged into the jack in the side of the cockpit. “Radio check?” cracked Jarv into his ears.

“Yep, loud and clear.” Mitch replied in the calmest tone he could muster. Stepladder mechanic reached over him to bring his shoulder belts down to the quick release, clicking them in, and doing the same for the other three belts and tightening them all accordingly. “Alright, if I could have you press the brake as hard as you can please?” said Jarv.

Mitch obliged and pressed it with all his leg’s might, careful not to use his back. Luckily, the leg training he’d been doing at the gym over winter had done him well, and he felt the pedal hit the stop after a short travel.

“Good, and now the gas just to test please.”

Mitch repeated with the gas pedal, the short travel again making it relatively easy.

“Cool, so if you crash we can’t blame the pedals.” Jarv deadpanned.

“Ah, don’t say the C-word now!” Mitch replied, half joking but also half hoping Jarv wouldn’t jinx him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be good. You ready?”

This was it. Two hours ago he was coming to visit; now he was driving. “Yep, this one’s for the team in the hospital.” He said back as he pulled on the team-supplied gloves.

“Alright, let’s fire up and push out boys.”

Mitch pulled down the visor on his helmet and gripped the wheel. The familiar sound of the starter drill rang out, then the beautiful hybrid engine roared to life. The mechanics stationed at his tires removed the blankets, and the car was lowered to the ground. After the blankets were folded, the tire mechanics began pushing the car out into the pitlane. As the car cleared the entrance, Mitch cranked the wheel to the right lock and held it until he was aiming straight down the pitlane. He unwound it and pulled in the clutch paddle. The head mechanic gave a thumbs up and cleared back to the side. With shaky hands and nervous energy coursing through him, Mitch clicked the right paddle, bringing up a 1 on the dash. He slowly squeezed the throttle on, careful to find a good balance of revs, and eased the clutch out as slowly as he thought necessary. It was almost too quick still, the car chugged hard as it lurched forward, but it smoothed out as it accelerated, and Mitch let out the rest of the clutch, making sure to peg the PIT button to limit his speed as he trundled down the pitlane.

He was rapidly overcome with determination and a true focus, one he recognized well from all his simracing. _“Just trust your gut”_ , Emily had assured him. She was right. Now, the only thoughts in his mind were of driving the car. As he reached the pit exit line, he clicked the PIT button once more and slowly applied power.

The sensation of acceleration was nothing like he’d ever felt before. No amount of training or sim time or real-world experience could’ve prepared him for the rocket of a powertrain behind him. He hesitated in reaction, dropping off the throttle as he remained right of the white line towards turn 1. Jarv came over the radio, “no one behind, just focus on a good outlap. You’re good, mate.”

It did little to reassure him but he continued on anyway, cranking the car through the two opening turns and slowly reapplying power, increasing the G force through turn 3. He craned his neck to the right to counter it, seemingly holding the pose for ages before unwinding the wheel out onto the short chute for turn 4.

The braking marker for turn 4 came to him from his practice: just before the bridge. He picked up the brakes at that point and it worked just as he intended.

“Alright, remember these are the hards, so don’t worry about getting any real temperature in them. Just drive around and get a good feel for the car.”

Mitch clicked on the radio button as he rounded out of 4. “Alright, copy.”

Turn 5 went normal as well, but he was still awestruck by how quickly the car accelerated out. He tried to imagine giving it full beans on a quali run but couldn’t, mostly because turn 7 was approaching and he didn’t have the time. He let the car swing out to the right, braked a bit, clicked down two gears, and smoothly turned into the apex. Careful not to hit the sausage in turn 8, he picked up the throttle, though not quite fully, and climbed the hill to 9. He kept the throttle in through 9, beginning to show confidence in the car. He knew that as he sped up, more airflow over the wing meant more downforce.

Finally, as he ran over the exit curbs, he squeezed on full power and unleashed the car. Even in the lowest hybrid deployment setting, the car rocketed towards turn 10 at a blinding rate. All Mitch could manage was to focus on shifting up when the lights told him and to spot his braking point.

All too quickly, the familiar 150 100 50 appeared in his sights. He opted for his sim braking marker, just past the 100.

As he jumped on the binders, he quickly realized he’d outdone it. The front tires let out a short squeal of pain before he lifted off, allowing the car to drift out onto the classic layout past the hairpin. “Sorry Jarv, just got too confident.” He radioed in.

“It’s ok, all about learning it. How are the tyres?”

“Small flatspots, otherwise ok.”

“Copy, you should be good to continue.”

Mitch trundled around the slow turn 12, cursing himself for the mistake. As he unwound onto the chute, he pounded the wheel with his right fist, Toto-style, before collecting himself and cranking it into 13 and the tight final chicane.

_Alright, let’s try it again._

Allowing the yellow sausage to keep him on track out of 15, he squeezed on full power as the MCL35 fired onto the mainstraight. He rocketed towards turn 1 at full beans for the first time and made sure to choose a more conservative marker. He opted for just before the 100 and smoothly but quickly pressed on the left pedal, trailbraking into the apex of 1 and bringing the right foot back into play as he switched back out of 2 for 3, confidence restored.

~~

Before too long, Jarv called out “box this lap, please, box this lap.” Mitch acknowledged with the OK button and, upon reaching turn 15, held it tight to the right to follow the pit-in road. He opted for a gradual slow to 60kph and clicked on the pit limiter, looking for his crew. McLaren had their stall earlier up the pitlane, so it wasn’t long before he cranked right, then left and stopped between the waiting mechanics, clutch held in. He clicked the left paddle down into neutral and released the clutch, and one of the mechanics reached into the tub and shut off the car. Mitch lifted his visor and dropped his arms into his lap as the car was hoisted up onto the dolleys and wheeled back into the garage. When the lead mechanic replaced the nose hoist in front of the car and the tire blankets were done up, Jarv came over the radio. “Alright, you can hop out, we’ll take a quick debrief and get ready for another run.”

Mitch felt frozen in place as his feelings and emotions returned. The words registered in his brain, but he was stuck. Paralyzed in the car.

Tears suddenly spilled forth, silently. “You ok mate?” Jarv looked at him from the desk. Upon seeing Mitch’s state, he knelt down to the side of the car and made eye contact. He gave a warm smile and a thumbs-up.

“I just fuckin' drove an F1 car” was all Mitch could muster through shaky breath.

Jarv laughed. "Yeah, you fuckin' did." 


	6. Epilogue

Mitch’s hand shook as he lowered pen to paper.

After testing the MCL35 for two days, MP Motorsport had, for some reason, taken notice. Mahaveer Raghunathan had been booted for obvious reasons, and the team found what they believed to be the perfect replacement in the quiet Canadian.

His glossy fountain ink signature glistened in the lights of the office.

“Congratulations, Mitch. We look forward to working with you.”

If anyone had told him a month prior he’d be securing a full time F2 drive, he’d have had a good laugh. Before Shadow came along, Mitch had been struggling to find a career path that he found passion in. He’d always had a smattering of interests, yet none of them deeply rooted enough for him to want to pursue a degree for. Simracing had been one of them for as long as he could remember, and it differed in that his dedication and pursuit of the top had never relented in all his time. But, he was already 18, too late to begin a real racing career without buying out a seat. He resigned himself to just being the best simracer he could be.

“Thank you.” Mitch reached out and shook the boss’s hand, throat dry and hardly able to comprehend the position he now found himself in.

He was now one-of-a-kind, taking possibly the most unlikely path conceivable to professional racing.

Mitch stepped out into the hallway, towards the build shop. His exclusive opportunity awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it would be best to close out this vignette right here. If I continue the saga, it'll be in a separate work paired to this one. Some sort of time warp thing, like in another book sorta thing. Thanks for sticking around, to the dedicated ones who have.


End file.
